What is Love?
by Bonnia
Summary: Draco wants to know what love is, and he gets some help from a certain Gryffindor in the Room of Requirement. Draco/Hermione. Post-war, though not in any specific year. T for kissing and slight language. Please Share Your Thoughts!


**Hello... another whatever Author's Note before you get to read the story. Warning, I believe the characters in this are pretty OOC, but I tried.

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"_Draco!"_ Pansy Parkinson called, her voice annoyingly sweet, as usual. She flounced away from the staircase, hips swaying crazily, and sat herself down next to Draco Malfoy, scooting much more close than necessary, and latching herself onto him.

Draco rolled his eyes and gave his best mate, Blaise Zabini, a helpless look, but Blaise just shrugged. Draco scowled as Pansy attempted to get closer to him, which was literally impossible. She was already almost in his lap.

_Damn you, Blaise,_ he thought. _If only her father hadn't bribed the Ministry, then she would be in Azkaban, probably. _

After the war, many of the Slytherins and their families were sentenced for alliances to the Dark Lord. Surprisingly, Draco didn't have the Dark Mark yet, so he was immune. But both of his parents were sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Thinking about his parents brought up a fresh wave of pain and resolve for Malfoy. His father deserved the Dementor's Kiss; he knew that, and supported it. His father had never done anything for him; if anything, he broke Draco over and over again. But his mother... she had only joined to protect Draco... because she loved Draco...

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of a nasal voice.

"So, Dracky-poo, lavender or mauve?"

"Huh, what?" Malfoy looked at her uncomprehendingly, and glared at Blaise, who was repressing a snicker. He ran a hand tiredly through his white blond hair, sweeping it out of his eyes, ignoring Pansy. Sadly, that was hard to do, because she kept repeatedly squeezing his arm, until he thought it would go numb.

"What, Pansy," He asked exasperatedly, already annoyed with the Slytherin girl.

"Lavender or mauve?" She fluttered her eyelashes suggestively. Draco tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes again, but it didn't work. She was just so stupid! Couldn't she see that he really didn't need her right now?

"For what?" He glared at her; cold gray eyes boring into her. If it was anyone else, they would flinch. But surprisingly, she didn't even notice.

"For our bridesmaids dresses, of course!" She said flippantly.

Draco leaped up from his chair, knocking her onto the floor. His black robes billowed in the cold common room air as he jumped away from her.

"What the- Bloody hell, woman?" He exclaimed, then set on the infamous Malfoy mask, hiding all of the emotions behind those cold silver eyes. "What gave you the idea we were getting married, Parkinson?"

Pansy seemed freaked out, but returned to her annoying self as usual. "Well, of course! I love you, and you love me, so we're planning a wedding!"

Malfoy seemed to shake with anger, then quickly stopped and covered up with the mask of cold indifference.

"What gave you that idea?" Pansy flinched at his cold tone.

"Well... I-I th-thought..."

Malfoy glared at her. "I do not now, nor have I, or will I ever love you, Parkinson. I would rather fall in love with-" he cast around in his mind for the person Pansy hated the most, "Granger, than you. Get that through your thick head."

She sat on the floor, completely and totally in shock. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but Draco didn't care. He stepped around her, glancing at Blaise. He shook his head, and Draco left the common room, out into the halls.

He didn't care that it was after curfew. He just needed to think. So Draco walked to the one place he knew he could be alone at this time.

He traveled across the grass silently until he came to the tree next to the lake. Cherry blossoms fell quietly into the water of the lake as he settled down on the ground. Putting one hand behind his head, Draco leaned back and looked at the stars, reflecting on the events that had just happened.

_Why the hell would she assume that I love her? That was absurd,_ he thought, then turned to a more pressing thought. _Why did I pick Granger?_

_It was just looking for someone she hated, _he thought rationally. But of course, that small voice in his head had to turn up.

_**Maybe you fancy her. **_

He nearly laughed out loud at the thought. _NO Bloody way! She was just a filthy mu-muggleborn!_

The stupid voice sensed his hesitation to even think that word. _**Ahh, but you haven't insulted her all year, so far! No mudblood, or anything. After the war, you kind of became... acquaintances. And you saw with your own eyes the way she filled out...**_

Draco had to sadly nod at that. He had passed her in the hallways sometimes, always glancing around as if something would attack her. He noticed her womanly look now; she had definitely grown up. What used to be a plain brown bush on her head had been tamed into highlighted curls that fell gently down her back. Her legs seemed to go on for days, and her honey brown eyes were filled with intelligent and wit. He also had to admit that she always put up a challenge; her knowledge was the only in school that could rival, possibly even surpass his.

_**So, maybe there's a real message to this,**_ the pesky little voice said.

Draco shrugged it off. _No. It was just the first person to say so Parkinson would give up the thing about love. _

Love.

Now that Draco actually thought about it... he didn't really know what love was.

Of course, there had been infatuations, but he never really could get the idea of love around his head. It was simply strange. To think that one person could like another so immensely that they would give their lives... it was simply unexplainable.

He'd seen people in love, and frankly, it was just strange. But some kinds of love were moderately acceptable. Like the love he had for his mother.

Draco knew he loved his mother. No doubt. He knew his mother loved him; why else would she take the Dark Mark and obey Voldemort? It wasn't a matter of choice; it was a matter of survival. He thought back to a time before the darkness, before Hogwarts, before his father broke away from their family.

* * *

"Mommy?" A 6-year old Draco Malfoy asked, pulling on his mother's dress. She looked down at him lovingly. Her blond hair was elegantly swept up into a bun, compared to her son's messy locks.

"Yes, Draco?" She asked him, kneeling down to look him in the eyes.

"What is love?"

That question threw Narcissa completely off guard. She had no answer, so she asked the basic question. "Why do you want to know?"

"Well, I was playing outside on my broomstick, and I saw Father, so I flew over to him. I told him I love him 'cause I do, and then he sighed and said that love was a compwi- comp-complicated thing. Why?" The small Draco turned his head to one side questioningly.

"Well, Draco," Narcissa sighed. She knew this had been coming, ever since Lucius had told her the pains were coming back. They only appeared in times were something dark is rising, and Narcissa feared the worst. But she wouldn't bestow those fears or ideals in her son; she wanted him to have a happy childhood. So she answered him honestly.

"Love really isn't complicated at all. It means that you care about someone a lot, and you never want to see them get hurt. You'll always want to protect them and even if it means something bad for you, you want them to be happy. Okay, Draco?"

He smiled a little. "One last question; do you love me?"

Narcissa sighed happily and pulled him into a hug. "More than you will ever know."

* * *

_And she was right that day,_ Draco thought dismally. _Mother does love me. But Father was right, in the fact that love is complicated. I don't know if I'll ever truly know what love is..._

Suddenly, an odd idea struck Draco. He didn't care that it was almost midnight; he found the answer to his problems, and that answer was lying on the seventh floor. He stood up, dusted his pants off, and walked stately back up to the castle.

There were a couple close calls with Filth(Filch's nickname in Slytherin) and Ms. Norris, but he finally reached his destination. The Room of Requirement.

Draco closed his eyes in front of the blank wall and focused. He asked the question that he had been dying to ask someone.

_I need to know what love is... I need to know what love is... I need to know what love is..._

And the door appeared.

* * *

She was just sitting quietly, looking up at the stars, when she heard the door open. Hermione was sitting on a balcony, looking out. Her small wire chair almost tipped backwards with surprise when she heard someone.

She had came to the RoR after a fight with Ron. Again. He kept insisting that they spend more time together, since they were 'dating'. In reality, she only felt of Ron as a brother. The kiss during the battle was a moment of passion because she believed she was going to die. That was it. But Ron kept insisting that it meant more. She knew it had meant more to him, but not to her.

She had ran from him after he pushed her up against a wall and tried to kiss her, saying he loved her over and over. Hermione rubbed her wrists painfully, looking at the blue and purple bruises that had formed there. Nothing she said or did would stop him.

Just thinking about the fight brought tears to Hermione's eyes. How in the world did her relationship with Ron get this bad? After the battle, she had hugged him and helped him recover from Fred's death. Maybe he thought she was leading him on? After all, she had spent an unusual amount of time with him, mourning.

Hermione sighed sadly, and one tear broke out, streaming down her face silently. Soon after, the rest fell. She was just too overwhelmed; she needed someone to talk to, that wouldn't judge her.

Little did she know, as she settled her head on her arms and looked out onto the Black Lake from the RoR, tears still streaming down her face, that her escape was watching her silently, even then.

* * *

Draco sighed as he closed the door to the Room of Requirement behind him, then tensed. He could feel another presence in the room. Ever since being around Voldemort, he knew if someone was in the same room as him.

The room that he was in was dark. It looked like the Gryffindor common room, even though Draco didn't know that. He slipped silently around the door into the shadows, blending in to creep along the walls. As he walked, he became more and more intrigued with the moonlight near the balcony, and who was sitting under it.

He stopped himself from walking fully out, and hid behind a drape, black against the wall. Around the corner, the stone balcony peered out over the Black Lake, or at least a rendition of it. It felt like they were on one of the towers around Hogwarts. Malfoy's silver eyes peered out from behind the curtain.

His breath hitched in his throat as he saw who was sitting there.

He couldn't think of her name right now; he was just sure that he knew her. She had long caramel brown hair, curls gently tracing down to her waist. She was wearing form-fitting jeans, sneakers, and a red shirt with a logo on it that Draco couldn't make out. Her head was slumped onto her arms desperately; her body shook with what seemed to be dry sobs. She looked to be a 7th year, but Draco was sure she couldn't be. He had never seen such an... entrancing teenager in their class.

He knew that he should go and comfort her, but frankly, he couldn't get past her appearance. Moonlight reflected out of the highlights in her hair. It shone down on her gently, illuminating her skin to look like porcelain. It seemed that if he went out to speak, and if he frightened or hurt her in any way, she would break. She was that delicate.

Draco thought about during the war, and chided himself. _You have the bravery to fight Death Eaters, but you can't bring up the courage to talk to this girl? Man, Draco..._

So he straightened up to his full height, took a deep breath, and stepped out to speak to her.

* * *

Hermione cried up until she basically couldn't cry any more. She cried about everything. Ron, the war, deaths, everything she could think of, until she was out of tears. That's when she noticed him.

She recognized him, definitely, but wasn't searching for a name in her mind at the moment. His skin was very, very pale compared to his black robes. White-blond hair sat, perfectly combed, not gelled back, just to the side. It seemed he was a Quidditch player, for his arms and chest were chiseled and strong as he leaned against the frame of the wall, staring at her with an unreadable expression.

"Who's there," she whispered.

He stepped into the light.

Draco Malfoy.

_Bloody hell.

* * *

_

"Who's there," the girl whispered melodically, turning to look at him. Tears had stained tracks down her pale face.

Draco stepped closer, and that's when he recognized her.

Hermione Granger.

Never in the world did he think that they would be in this situation. They hadn't particularly come close after the war, but he didn't hate her. _Though she might hate him,_ Draco thought.

"What's up, Granger?" He asked quietly, honestly wanting to know. The Hermione Granger he knew never cried, as far as he knew, but what did he know about her?

She chuckled mirthlessly, a watery sound. "What's up, Malfoy? I don't know, the sky, birds, my heart after Ron threw it on the ground," she whispered the last part, though he still caught it.

Draco moved to sit down in the other wire chair.

"What did Weasley do?" He asked her. She turned to him, shocked.

"Do you really care?" She asked.

After a pause, he answered solemnly, "Yeah. I do."

She gazed at him once more, regarding him as a real person, not just a Slytherin. He tried to see her the same way, as only a girl who wanted comfort, not a Muggleborn Gryffindor.

"More fighting," she answered after a long while. "He likes me more than I like him, and it's very... irritating," Hermione tried to choose the right word, not wanting anyone to know about the bruises.

Draco caught her rubbing her wrists, however. With one swift hold, against Hermione's will, he grabbed both of her hands and pulled up the sleeves, revealing the purple coloring. His eyes narrowed.

"Let _go_ of me!" She struggled, but Draco wouldn't release his hold.

"Did Weasley do this?" He asked in a low, dangerous voice that caused Hermione to pull away more. When she didn't answer, instead turning her head away from him, he got his answer.

"I'll kill that bastard," he swore quietly.

Hermione shook her head quickly. "Don't touch him. It was an accident," she reassured both him and herself.

Draco shook his head. "Bruises like this aren't accidents. I know because my father-" he cut himself off, looking mutinous at letting out any particular secret of his family's.

"Fine," he agreed, as Granger looked as if she was about to cry if he pushed the subject more. "I won't touch him." That's what he told her, but Draco swore that Ron Weasley would get his, soon.

Hermione smiled watery, and changed the subject. "So, why'd you come out here?"

Draco sighed again. Now that the subject of Hermione's abuse was out, his reason sounded stupid. But he was going to be proud of his... unknowing? Whatever.

"I wanted to know what love is," he muttered.

Hermione grinned. _She really should smile more,_ he thought fleetingly, before she spoke. "What was that, Draco?"

He blinked once, shocked. "You- you called me Draco."

Hermione also seemed shocked. "Yeah-yeah, I did. Well, friends call each other by their first names, right?" She looked at him with those haunted brown eyes, that had seen so much more than her 18 years of age called for.

"Yeah," he found himself agreeing. Friends.

"So?" Hermione leaned forward. "What did you want?"

Draco found himself speaking louder this time. "Pansy was annoying me, so I went out, got to thinking, and well, wanted to know the meaning of love."

Hermione had a pondering look on her face.

"Hmm... love. And the room led you here?" She asked. Draco nodded.

After a moment of pause, she opened her mouth again.

"I guess, love is when you feel so much for someone. They're always on your mind, and you care about their happiness so much. You always put them before yourself, even if it means you'll get hurt. You always want them to be happy, even at the cost of your own joy."

Draco thought back to the day when his mother described love. _They said basically the same things. You always put them before yourself. But how do I know if I love someone? _

He asked her that question quietly. Hermione turned to look at him again. Ochre eyes met stirling ones, in a complex battle of gazes.

"You'll just know, Draco. You'll just know."

She stood up and stretched out a hand for him to take. He took it, pulling a little too hard, however, so Hermione fell into his chest. Looking down on her, he went with the compulsory action. He kissed her.

Her lips tasted like honey, he noticed vaguely. Pressing harder, they competed in a passionate embrace, before he let her go slowly.

Hermione backed up with swollen lips, gazing at him indescribably.

"Do you understand now?" She asked breathless.

Draco smirked. "Yeah, I'm learning."

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**Fin. **

**So, meh? I'm horrible at kissing scenes, as anyone who's read Crazier knows. And it was really long. But hey, did anyone like it? Please Share Your Thoughts! **


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